Chapter 99. The Garden Beyond the Applause

Author's Night arrived like a dream spun from silk and starlight.

The venue glowed with elegance—an opulent ballroom tucked in the heart of Tokyo's literary district, dressed in cascading chandeliers, soft golden lighting, and walls adorned with framed covers of bestselling novels.

A string quartet played near the grand staircase, their music delicate and hypnotic, weaving magic into the already enchanted air.

And then she walked in.

All at once, the room shifted.

Heads turned.

Conversations stalled mid-sentence.

Even the cameras paused, as if their lenses struggled to capture her all at once.

Ayaka Yamamoto.

She descended the marble staircase like a vision from another world.

Draped in a midnight blue gown that shimmered like the night sky, the fabric hugged her figure with quiet reverence.

The sweetheart neckline dipped just enough to hint at allure without overshadowing her elegance.

Silver embroidery laced across the hem like stardust scattered across a velvet sky, and a thigh-high slit revealed long, graceful legs clad in satin heels.

Her hair was styled in soft waves pinned to the side with a jeweled clip, revealing the elegant line of her neck and the delicate silver chain that never left it—Akihiko's necklace, glinting under the chandeliers.

Her makeup was subtle but striking: a soft smokey eye, wine-red lips, and just enough highlighter to make her skin glow.

She didn't just walk.

She glided, carrying herself with the poise of a queen cloaked in melancholy.

Makoto was already there when she arrived, and for a moment, he forgot the crowd around him.

He had worn a crisp black tuxedo, tailored perfectly to his tall frame, paired with a deep burgundy vest and pocket square that complemented his green eyes.

His blonde hair was slicked back just enough to look polished without losing his usual charm, and when he smiled at the crowd, camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

Countless women had tried to claim his attention already that evening—stylists, fellow authors, actresses, and even a few socialites.

They giggled at his jokes, touched his arm, and vied for his gaze.

But his eyes hadn't left Ayaka since the moment she entered.

Every detail of her arrested him—the way her gown swayed with every step, the curve of her lips when she smiled politely at other guests, the hidden sadness that still lingered in her gaze despite the applause she received.

It was as if the entire world had dulled around him, and only she remained in color.

"Whoa!" a voice beside him said. "You're practically drooling."

Makoto blinked.

It was Yuriko, dressed in a dazzling red halter gown, her hair up in an elegant chignon, ruby earrings dancing with every movement.

She raised an eyebrow at him with playful exasperation.

"I'm just observing." he said coolly, adjusting his cufflinks.

"Observing?" Yuriko snorted. "Miura she's glowing. And you're staring at her like a man who's two seconds away from falling off the edge."

Before he could respond, Takeshi appeared beside Yuriko, dressed in a sleek charcoal-gray suit with an emerald tie.

He exuded the kind of effortless cool that turned heads without trying.

A quiet smile tugged at his lips as he watched Ayaka being surrounded by publishers and editors.

"Can you blame him?" Takeshi murmured, watching her with a flicker of admiration.

"She's… captivating tonight. She looks like a heroine stepped out of her own novel."

"She always does." Yuriko agreed softly.

Makoto didn't say anything.

He didn't need to. His clenched jaw, the way his hands fidgeted with his glass, and his eyes—never straying from Ayaka for more than a heartbeat—said everything.

Ayaka eventually made her way to their side, gracefully maneuvering through the crowd of fans and photographers.

"Wow! You looked beautiful!" Yuriko whispered, the word meant for Ayaka but with enough awe to be shared by all three.

Ayaka smiled, a little breathless. "Yuriko, you look amazing. And Takeshi—very dashing tonight."

"You're stealing all the attention." Takeshi said with a grin. "And deservingly so."

Ayaka chuckled, cheeks flushed with the warmth of the moment.

But when her gaze met Makoto's, the air stilled between them.

Something passed there—unspoken but unmistakable.

Makoto cleared his throat, holding out a hand. "You look… like the stars wrote you into existence."

The flattery came out more poetic than he intended, but it was genuine.

Sincere.

Ayaka's lips parted slightly, her breath caught. "Thank you..." she whispered, slipping her hand into his. "You're not looking too bad yourself, Radiant Prince."

He chuckled, though his eyes still lingered on her longer than they should have.

And even as more guests poured into the venue, even as more voices called for their attention, he couldn't stop watching her.

And Ayaka, for the first time in a long time, allowed herself to bask in the warmth of someone else's gaze.

But deep within her chest, the necklace resting above her heart pulsed with quiet weight.

The storm she had tried to bury for three years was moving again.

And even on a night wrapped in glamour and gold… the past refused to stay silent.

------

The orchestra struck a graceful waltz, rich and glittering like the chandeliers overhead.

The ballroom shimmered with laughter, sparkling gowns, and the rhythmic sweep of couples moving in unison across polished marble.

Ayaka stood at the edge of the dance floor, sipping champagne, the soft candlelight catching the silver accents of her gown.

The sapphire-blue silk hugged her form elegantly, her hair swept into soft waves that cascaded like liquid ink down her back.

She looked like something out of a storybook—timeless, mysterious, breathtaking.

"May I?" came a familiar voice.

She turned to find Takeshi, offering his hand with a gentleman's smile.

His tuxedo was sharp, clean, the black-on-black ensemble bringing out the intensity in his eyes.

"Takeshi?" she blinked, then laughed "So you do dance."

"Not particularly well." he admitted with a grin. "But this is a special occasion, and I figured I'd risk a bruised toe or two."

She raised an amused brow. "My toes will file a complaint."

"Noted." he said, leading her gently to the floor.

They fell into step, a little unsteady at first but quickly found a quiet rhythm.

Takeshi was surprisingly composed, his movements careful, and respectful.

"You've been the center of attention all night." he noted. "How's it feel to be the queen of the ball?"

Ayaka gave a faint smile. "Overwhelming, if I'm honest. I still feel like I don't quite belong in rooms like this."

"You belong." Takeshi said firmly. "You've always belonged. Even before the books, before the fame. You just didn't see it yet."

Her eyes softened, grateful. "You're a good friend, Takeshi."

"I tried to be." he said, then hesitated.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

She blinked. "What is it?"

"It's about…"

"May I cut in?" came another voice, cool and composed—yet undeniably firm.

They both turned.

Makoto.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored white tux with obsidian trim, he looked like he'd walked out of a dream.

He was striking in his own right, drawing gazes all night from admirers around the ballroom—but his eyes had been locked on only to Ayaka since the evening began.

"Mori." Makoto nodded. "Mind if I borrow her for a dance?"

Takeshi hesitated.

He looked at Ayaka, and something unreadable passed between them.

"I suppose it can wait." He said gently.

"Just… make sure to find me later, Ayaka"

She nodded, slightly dazed. "Alright…"

Behind them, Takeshi lingered at the edge of the dance floor for just a second longer, conflicted.

Then he turned and walked off through the crowd "The storm was stirring again and you're the heart of it." He whispered.

Makoto took her hand without waiting, sliding his other to her waist with confident ease.

His touch was warm, possessive—but not rough.

He guided her into the rhythm effortlessly.

"You look like a dream." he murmured, his voice low and close to her ear. "I've been watching you all night."

"You have?" she asked, breath catching slightly.

"You're hard to miss." he said. "Even with all the lights and gowns and flattery—none of them shine like you do."

She looked up at him, and something in his gaze burned—like a fire he'd been holding back for far too long.

Makoto's hand was steady at Ayaka's waist as he guided her across the floor.

The orchestra's melody wrapped around them like silk—slow, haunting, and intimate.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the polished marble beneath their feet reflecting the shimmering lights above.

Around them, the ballroom glittered with laughter, clinking glasses, and polite applause.

But in Makoto's eyes, there was only her.

"You're quieter now..." Ayaka murmured as they moved, her hand resting lightly in his.

He looked down at her, his green eyes unreadable. "I'm trying to keep myself together."

She arched an eyebrow. "From what? Nervous you'll step on me?"

He gave a soft chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No. I'm nervous I'll say something I can't take back."

Ayaka's smile faded just a little, her chest tightening.

The soft perfume of night-blooming flowers drifted in through the open balcony doors, blending with the delicate scent of her own perfume.

Makoto leaned in slightly, his breath brushing her ear. "You don't even realize, do you? How impossible you are to ignore."

Her breath hitched, her fingers involuntarily tightening around his hand.

He drew back just enough to look at her properly, their bodies still swaying gently to the music. "From the second you walked into this ballroom… I haven't been able to look away."

She searched his face, uncertain, her heart beginning to pound. "Makoto…"

"Come with me." he said quietly, interrupting whatever wall she was beginning to raise.

And without waiting for a response, he gently took her hand and led her away from the dance floor.

Past the elegantly dressed guests.

Past the open bar and crystal chandeliers.

Through the arching glass doors that led into the garden beyond.

The moment they stepped outside, the atmosphere changed.

The garden was softly lit with floating lanterns and fairy lights strung between rose-covered trellises.

A stone path curved between beds of lavender, white lilies, and night-blooming jasmine.

The air was cooler here, quieter. Intimate.

Makoto didn't speak.

He walked a few paces more, leading her into a more secluded corner where a marble bench sat beneath a vine-covered archway.

Moonlight pooled around them, casting silver across her gown and igniting a soft glow on her skin.

He stopped.

Turned to face her.

"Ayaka." he said, voice low and trembling slightly now—not with fear, but with intensity.

She met his eyes.

There was something in them that startled her—not the usual playful glint, not the confident smirk he wore for the cameras.

This was raw.

"I know you're still hurting." he said. "I know you still think about him—every day. And I won't pretend to understand what the two of you had. I won't even try to compare. But…"

He took a breath, his hand reaching up to gently brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "...I want to be the one who helps you find the light again."

Ayaka's lips parted slightly, her breath shallow.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

"I've waited." he whispered. "I've been patient. But tonight, I can't pretend anymore."

His hand rested lightly at her cheek now, his thumb grazing the edge of her jaw.

She leaned into the touch before she could stop herself.

"Makoto." she whispered, her voice trembling, "I don't know if I can give you—"

"I don't need a promise." he cut in gently. "Just this moment."

And then, without another word, he leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn't rushed.

It wasn't demanding.

It was slow, aching, and full of every word he hadn't said in the past three years.

Ayaka melted into him before her mind could catch up.

The scent of jasmine and autumn and everything she'd tried to bury wrapped around them like fog.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against hers.

"I'm here." he whispered. "And I'm not going anywhere."